Sleep Dream Wake Live
by Winter Ashby
Summary: Gaara sleeps and dreams and wakes with a hole in his chest and an image of pink, green, red, and pale skin drawing him out and away from what he used to be. He finds her broken and covered in blood that's not her own. Will they ever find solace? [Gaara & Sakura]
1. Sleep

**Title:** Sleep.Dream.Wake.Live**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto and I am in NO way affiliated with Masashi Kishimoto-sama. :pout: He's doing a great job, though. Ganbatte Kishimoto-sama.**  
Rating: **T  
**Summary:** Gaara sleeps and dreams and wakes with a hole in his chest and an image of pink, green, red, and pale skin drawing him out and away from what he used to be. He finds her broken and covered in blood that's not her own. Will they ever find solace?  
**Authors Notes:** Okay, so this takes place after I read chapter 298 of the Manga. I wrote it while I was waiting for 299, so this is what I thought could have come next, so it's AU from then on. Everything else has happened cannon, I just decided to take it in my own direction.

This is a new style that I tried out. Don't worry; the whole series won't be like this, just the first chapter. I did it to introduce you to the two characters and their new attitudes. I hope you enjoy it. I like it, but hey I wrote it, right? Also, they haven't really addressed what the implications would be fore Gaara, so before anyone says that he's OOC; remember he's a different person. Now I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that he doesn't have the monster anymore so this is what I wished would have happened. Okay not wished, because it's kind of sad… but so is everything else I write.

Oh and as of yet it's still a T rating. Yay, SE be proud of me! I'm doing it for you, even though you have no idea what's going on I'm pretty sure you're going to read it. Don't worry I'll find a way to bring you Naruto someday… More coming soon, be patient though. I have a very full life outside of anime, not that I'm happy about that, mind you. It's just reality.

* * *

Gaara slept. For the first time in his life, he let his heavy, sullen eyes close and let the soothing comfort of sweet oblivion take him. He didn't fight the hypnotizing sound of his own breathing trick him into meditation, but felt his head hit the soft, silken pillow of the Kazekage's private dwellings and nearly cried with relief. 17 years living in fear of the night, full of hateful envy for all the closed eyes and wistful hearts of those who indulged in what he could only imagine. He wanted to cry, but he was just so tired. He thought he might sleep for a year. It occurred to him that he should have felt empty or hollow without the constant whispering of the psychotic demon in his head. He should have been focused on avenging his own death, or making Chiyo-sama's death a national Memorial Day. He should have done many things but the only thing he could do was crawl into an unused bed and let the sweeping doziness strangle his heart and dim the world. 

Gaara dreamt. He let the delicate images of inner-most psyche dance lightly through his mind and across the back of his eyelids. He saw strange figures, cloaked in darkness and red, swirling clouds taunting him. He saw the ghosts of people he'd killed, and bowed reverently at the sight of his childhood. He felt wind on his face and the soothing sensation of gritty sand in-between his bare toes. He dreamt of sun kissed summer days under an impossibly blue sky next to a perfect lake. He dreamt of Temari and Kankurou floating on a giant leaf on the powerful wind, back to desert. He smelled the arid wind of the hot desert air, then the deep moisture that came just before a storm. He could smell the coming rain, just off in the distance. And he dreamt on and on and on. He was a lost boy in a canyon and a murderer on a rooftop. He was a monster in a cave and a man in the woods. He was the head of his nation and loved. Love, there was so much love. He felt love for his land and his people. He felt love for all those he would die again just to protect. And there was no monster in him to tell him he couldn't or shouldn't. He saw shinning pink hair and deathly defiant green eyes. He smelled sweet Sakura blossoms, and felt a hand tugging at his heart.

Gaara woke. The dead still of the re-circulated air in his lungs made his limbs feel stiff. It was dark; he wondered how long he'd slept. His gourd was still resting against the far wall, and the cocoon of sheets he'd made for himself was now binding and abrasive. He craved fresh air, and water. He craved to feel the sand running over his hands and almost wondered if he'd gone deaf. But he focused and heard the scrap of free floating sand on his window outside and he realized for the first time how devastatingly alone he was now. There was no more voice in his head, for good or bad. There were no more duel memories or conflicting fates. There was no more reason to fight because there was nothing left to fight. He was free, and alone. He was just a man, and he looked at the pale, fragile flesh of his hands and hated himself.

Gaara stood. The need to escape these feelings and strange sensations were just too much. The great pressure building in his lungs made it hard to breathe. Through the murky water that clouded his vision, he groped out in the darkness for familiarity of thick leather and a heavy gourd. He fled, lunging to the window and freeing the latch with a frenzied need to be free and alive. The cold desert air on his face was like drinking water for the first time. The trickle of his down his windpipe felt just like an addicting drug. He breathed again, deeper and full of passing sand. He tasted the night and grinned. Toothy, white and blinding to the absent midnight stars who cowered before his lack of all things. But the sand still knew him, still recognized him as sovereign. It came from all directions to create his version of a magic carpet. Wind on his face, tears in his eyes, nothing in his heart, and a deafening quiet in his head.

Gaara left. The feel of the desert on his skin weighing him down, he felt a hundred times heavier. It was like he was suddenly on a distant planet with a thick atmosphere that pressed down on his lungs and crushed him with divine power into the dusty ground. The promise of a thick green forest, unfamiliar ground, and the coming rain drew him in. He craved to taste the falling drops and run his new hands over the dripping leaves. The wind on his face blew harder and faster as deep ragged breathes made their way to his throbbing ears. He dug his hands into the magical sand under his bent knees and relished in the feel of the grit under his nails. There was a chill on his face and his dirty hands flew to his cheeks. Fear, painful stinging in his nose, damp moisture on his fingertips; he looked down at his trembling hands with utter confusion.

Gaara wept. The tears fell in endless crystal streams down his smooth skin and over the slight pout of his lips. They dripped from his chin and crashed against the unforgiving leather of his gourd's strap. They rolled down and nestled in the red fabric of his unused headband. He wept for all the lives he'd taken and for all those he would never get to. He wept for the mark on his forehead and the brand of loneliness. He wept for all those who saved him and for not being able to save himself. He wept for his sister and brother and father and mother. He wept for himself, because no one else would. And he knew the coming storm was upon him. The torrential downpour from his own eyes washed his world away and left him so empty he felt like he could sleep for another year. The rising sun illuminated the pale outline of distant trees past the blurry haze of his own mourning and gave him hope.

Gaara longed. He was nearly free from duty, and fate, and a country that feared and loved him as he hated and protected them. The perpetual night of Gaara's first sleep was slipping away with the bright, growing sliver. The stiff tears on his face as the wind pushed past was just painful enough to prove he was alive. There was a sudden flash of green, pink, red and pale white that nearly crushed in lungs. His empty, useless hands groped the passing air and reach forward to the growing forest. He felt a fire in his heart as he passed over the unseen, but strictly enforced line into the sweet unknown. Stumbling through time he didn't understand and yearning for the touch of something he didn't realize his magic carpet took him through the fire to the land where he was defeated by a leaf.

Gaara remembered. There were fierce blue eyes that hollowed into red tinted hatred and blood red eyes that swam with the hidden talent of unforeseen limits he couldn't ever know. But there were also angry green eyes that softened for the sight of others. He could feel her body move under the crushing weight of his sand. Even the demon was quelled for a brief moment at the notion of being opposed by a passing leaf on the breeze. It was her face that woke him from his first slumber, and it was her intoxicating sent that brought him back from oblivion. It was her hands, trembling and clutching to the lifeless body of his savior. It was her hands that saved his brother and embraced his sister. It was her name, lost in the massive gaps in social order in his brain that made the red kanji on his forehead ache for soft fingertips.

Gaara thought. The massive walls of the sacred village emerged in the distance and he could feel the storm begin to brew in his mind once again. The weight of the air, the desperate call of long-lost loving caresses of sleep calling to him and he was stumbling on the fading wind. But he was almost there, so close to the figure that chased away the pounding loneliness in his chest and lunged at him with all the courage he lacked. She loved, her eyes told him so. She lost, her tears told him so. She regretted, her sullen scent told him so. She moved on, her new techniques told him so. She was powerful, her chakra told him so. She hated, her scars told him so. She longed, her silken hair told him so. She feared him, Temari told him so.

Gaara stopped. The pounding in his head was almost strong enough to drop the sand and him through the tree below and crash to the earth that he wished would swallow him whole. He didn't know how to be human; he didn't know what to do without the voice in his head telling him the opposite of what he should do. Nigen. Human. Mortal. Weak. Beautiful. He was alone because he was no longer a monster, but he was so very overwhelmed with the new found connection to all dieing things that he wanted to vomit thick acidy bile and burn his hands. He was tired again and he thought it might be nice to sleep under the sun for a month or so. How long had he slept? He didn't hesitate; there was nothing left to fear. He was broken now, seeking refuge in the last salvation he knew existed. Forgiveness and answers from perfect idealism.

Gaara entered. The village seemed small somehow, in the shadow of the distant night and the light of the rising sun. It was just as he remembered it and nothing like he expected it. This place held revelations, and nearly wistful ideals that created in him the desire to protect his people. But now the heavy, humid air was on his bare neck and winding its way up this throat. He missed the certainty of evil and hated the idea that he must now embrace goodness. His shallow green eyes reflected the gates as he passed effortless over the symbol of power. There was a pain in his heart and the lingering stiff skin of his lower eyes. He wondered if the black circles were still there, if he would ever really lose the raccoon eyes he had come to be known for. He hoped not, change was happening too fast in him to stop and he wasn't pleased.

Gaara wanted. Her scent was effervescent. It reverberated from every tree and rock in this land. It echoed off cliffs and through valleys. It ricochet through pounding rain and pointed the way to her like a huge, neon arrow. Outside the hospital, tears, sake, fresh blood, chakra, and her. He didn't cause the blood or the tears but each made the hollow part of his chest simultaneously tighten and spurn at the thought of her and him and all of it. Her chakra healed the blood, and the sake healed her tears. She was broken and damaged and everything he never knew he wanted. Without another voice in his head to urge him forward and taste her sweaty skin he stood fixated on the ethereal image of her back to the cold stone wall and the empty bottle at her feet. Heavy eyes regarded his presence with little care or too much, he couldn't be sure. No words, no thoughts, no balance. She fell.

Gaara cared. He didn't know what he expected when he fled the desert, he wasn't sure when he realized it was for her, and he was even less knowledgeable about what he would do once he arrived. But holding her as she vomited over the back of a bench into the low bushes was not at the top of his list. She smelled sweet still, under the sickly scent of overindulgence. She clung to his chest and vomited again. Apathetic sentiments crept their way through his eyes as he watched the fragile creature in his arms nearly break from the pressure of her own heaving. Hand twisted in her perfect hair reminded him of what woke him from his impossible slumber. Upturned eyes and unasked questions beckoned a response he was not willing to give, or inadequately prepared to answer.

Gaara spoke. "How long?" His monotone voice was raspy with disuse and he realized it was the first thing he'd said since his long sleep. Groggy features greeted his placated reply and shattered the simple concept of dreaming. She stumbled, she closed her eyes, and she thought. His hand still touched her hair as she laid hap hazardously in his arms. Small, so small; she was tiny, a fragment of the towering figure that chased away the demon in his now empty soul. She knew the answer, but under the haze of the alcohol still chasing away her pain the answer was lost in her mind, fleeting on some nerve path sent to the wrong location. She reached up; eyes closed and stroked the side of his face.

Gaara growled. The sensation of her cold extremities on his face and the sickening smell of sake on her breath made him want to throw up right next to her. Instead, he pulled away and flung her over his shoulder. Ass to face and face to gourd he walked. Her softer, more natural smell led him down a dark alley and up a flight of squeaking stairs. The pink doormat made him stop in his tracks. Something about the idea of the drunken medical prodigy with a bright pink rug to mark her entranceway seemed at odds. Her hands fumbled with the white sash that bound him to the sand receptacle and he paused. "Yamate." He insisted with depressing restraint. Human, moral, mortal, ignorant. The door screeched open as his sand trickled though the key hole and conformed to make a skeleton key.

Gaara regretted. With sweeping finality, he was standing at the precipice of what he wanted, wrapped around his neck and clinging to him like he was made for her. He was angry at the thought that he'd given into such a human folly, but hateful for the state in which he found her. Over the threshold, cradling her with an annoyance even he didn't quite understand. Then she was gone, away from his grip as she danced and swirled through the darkness of her apartment. Clumsy hands reached for a hidden bottle nestled between cookbooks. He was beside her, removing the offensive liquid from her grasp as it slipped effortlessly down the drain with a satisfying swirl. She pouted, and he idly thought she looked thirteen again. Except she wasn't, and the alcohol hidden in her home made him rethink just how not thirteen she really was. How long had he been asleep?

Gaara sighed. He was unfamiliar with the action and it seemed a little incomplete until he crossed his arms across his broad chest. It felt slightly less queer then, like perhaps with practice it was a gesture he could be comfortable with performing. Annoying, pale, sick, heartbroken. He recognized the signs, and saw the same heart agonizing pain reflected in her eyes. Unshed tears, will power to be stronger. A promise made to no one, but unable to forget and move on without it. She was stuck, he didn't know why or how to pull her from the depths of her sorrow so he settled for picking her up, bridal style this time, and walked into her bedroom and placed her with a heavy thud on the bed. The graceless failing limbs of her putrid body pulled him forward and downward. Billowing breasts and smooth skin greet his face with a new kind of discomfort.

Gaara knelt. Pulling his body from hers, disengaging her hands from his hair and trying his best to ignore the pleading in her eyes. If there had been a beast in him, it would have stirred, but instead he was greeted with the desperate urge to shake her until the half lidded gaze she was giving him now disappeared from this earth forever. He gauged her with untrusting eyes and measured the length of his patience. It sufficed, for the time being. He stood, letting the soft fabric of her sheet slide under his bare palms for an instant longer than he should have as his eyes lingered on the exposed skin of her thigh in the cresting sunlight. Disappointment, confusion, anger, all useless human emotions for the journey he shouldn't have taken and the kunoichi that should mean nothing. "Gaaaaarrrrraaa" she let the slurred name spill from her lips like a tainted, forbidden jutsu. Lush with raw emotion, humbled in the presence of his name from her lips he stilled. She seemed to mull it over, roll it around on her tongue until she was satisfied with it. Then she turned her face away and past him all at the same time.

Gaara waited. He wished for sleep, yearned for her soft sheets and cool pillows. It was a new sensation, to want sleep rather than fear it. But she snored and rolled over to vomit every few hours so he decided that he had plenty of practice not sleeping. If he woke to find her choking to death on her own tongue, that would anger him. The sun rose and hung in the sky. He sat, still and unchanging as her condition seemed to be improving. There were longer periods between unrest and sickness. The noises of city life percolated through the opened window in the kitchen but he sat with his back against the wall, watching her sleep. There was no one to check on her, no one to verify the state of her condition. He registered that with weary thought and tired eyes. Eventually he noted the setting of the sun with envious eyes. Night, sleep, dreams.

Sakura slept. There were images of sickening smiling faces and betrayal. There was a large, orange fox that clipped her arm and made her cry out. There was the memory of leaving a comrade behind. With heavy thoughts she formed the image of a bloody boy, waiting to be healed. Too late, and too sad to save him. Too focused on the faceless enigma of her past and chasing demons to stop and change her mind. Duty and unacceptable reasons danced through her mind with an ache in her heart and a scream in her thought. Rusty hair and green eyes mixed in a swirl of sand and she was falling. She could feel eyes on her; feel the moon on her skin. But the pale green eyes peered through the haze of nightmares, always in the back of her mind.

Sakura woke. Pale green eyes waited for her on the new side of sleep and she almost rolled over and went right back to sleep. But the putrid taste in her mouth and the pounding in her head made her stir from her haze. Green eyes still watched her. She thought for a moment that he looked so tired. Even with the black rings around his eyes, he had always managed to look menacing in the past. But now she almost felt guilty for not offering him a spot next to her on the bed. Carefully, she tilted her head, trying to let the traitorous thoughts drip from her mind as she became frantic to piece together the events of… how long had she slept?

Sakura spoke. "What happened?" her mouth was itchy and dry and scratched with the words that she probably shouldn't be speaking. There was no answer, she wasn't sure if had really expected one. But the fact remained that he was in her bedroom, watching her sleep. She was still dressed and that horrible feel in her stomach was lurching again. "Oh, yeah." The sickening hole in her heart tore open again and she wished she had some sake. There should still be a bottle under the side corner of her bed, and suddenly she was moving forward and across. Her hand reached behind the curtain of fabric that spread across the floor. Desperate hands searched for the smooth porcelain she knew she'd left there yesterday. With great triumph her fingers closed around the familiar bottle she'd stolen from Tsunade and brought it to her lips.

Sakura cared. So she drank. The sting of the liquor as it passed her parched lips and sore throat was almost painful enough to make her forget that there was another person in the room. And then, she _didn't_ care. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. God, she was so sick of crying. She just wanted to wither away, slither into the bottle and never come out again. But then the bottle was gone, alcohol flying across the room and smashing with a horrible finality against the far wall. Wide eyed she peered at the man who sat on her floor and dared to take her reprieve away. Insolent, arrogant, powerful. He reminded her so much of faces she wanted to forget. He was up, and moving like mist over ice toward her and all the problems that swirled around her. "Don't come near me!" her shriek was more a warning for him than out of fear for herself. Somewhere deep inside she registered that he no longer had a monster in him. But she no longer had a heart in her, so it didn't really matter.

Sakura wept. The ignorant, putrid, hateful tears that began to spill or their own will mocked her. They taunted her, whispering that she wasn't good enough, and that she would always be the little girl in the corner who cried because she didn't get her way. He didn't stop until he stood towering over her small, malnourished frame. She hadn't really noticed how tall he'd gotten in the three years she'd been training, and he'd been Kazekage. It was all strange, and beneath the beneath there was something else. But past the nausea, pain, anger, and grief she wasn't sure she trusted herself to make judgments on other people's mental state. So the tears fell, and she sobbed and chocked on her own air. She almost bent over to lick up the spilled sake, but decided better of it. All he did was stand and glower down at her disappearing form. After a few minutes of indulging in mortal fears, she stopped and settled the pang in her heart.

Sakura stood. On shaky legs and unbending will she moved forward, brushing past the stranger in her bedroom. She thought for a moment that she should be more concerned about not walking up alone. She couldn't remember how she got home but she was left with the distinct impression that she owed him some semblance of gratitude for it. She didn't like that feeling. But she didn't speak, there were no words in her heart left to say. Her shirt was stiff with blood that wasn't her own and she nearly crashed to the floor as the image of a lifeless body was pulled from her grasp. She'd left him, to chase after a useless dream of summers past and teams now gone. She hated herself, she knew she always would. She tasted vomit past the burning of the fresh sake. There was a pan next to bed.

Sakura thought. The fearsome man standing behind her, watching to drifting night clouds chilled her. He looked so pale, and tired. His eyes twisted from their locked position outside the window to peer at her with guised interest. Then, ever so slightly, they flickered to the rumpled bed to his right. She thought he looked almost longingly at the disheveled sheets she'd emerged from. But she couldn't bring herself to care. She simply turned from him and headed for the sweet call of warm water and fresh clothes. She didn't need lights to see. She didn't want to see the hollow, broken woman look back at her from her medicine cabinet mirror. She didn't look. She forwent the light and opted to bath in the dark. She wished she'd thought to hide a bottle of sake in her toilet. She let the sullen clothes slip from her sore shoulders and run past the under-mesh and pass over her hips to meet the floor. She shed the mesh and undergarments, glad to be free from the confines of shinobi clothes. It should have bothered her that there was a murderer just outsider the flimsy door and she was now naked. But she just didn't know how to care about anything anymore. She turned off the steaming water that she didn't even remember turning on and stepped into the tub.

Sakura remember. As the water rose to cover her face she let the fading memories of years gone back take her in. She could still feel a warm body under her tear stained face on a misty bridge. She could see crystal eyes proudly declare his solemn promise, and the disappointment and self petulance as he returned battered and beaten with empty hands and a broken heart. She let herself, for one shinning moment of ultimate regret remember just the way he looked in the sunlight in the clearing of his own destruction as she made the decision to leave him and follow a useless fantasy. She left him, and now he was dead. She was to blame, and she knew now that past loves would never be redeemed. She hated him, she hated herself. She hated everything. She left a sudden chill ripple through her body as she could feel her heart harden.

Sakura regretted. The water was cold now, so she racked her nails over her skin and scraped off the layers of skin that held in her former self. Her soft pale skin puckered and emanated a deep red just at the surface. She wanted to bleed, she thought at least then she would have something to fix – something she knew she would be able to heal. The gashes across her heart were too deep for even her expert medical skills to reach. She was sober, and terribly hungry. She dried, and dressed in fresh, blood free clothes and emerged only to find the terrifying Kage asleep in her bed. Her eyes softened. He was tired. She approached his peaceful, slumbering form and watched in the passing moonlight as his chest rose and fell in peaceful patterns. He didn't look so menacing then, but small. She leaned forward and pulled the covers up to his chin. She glanced down at the vomit in the pan and back to the man who was such an anomaly. She smiled a sad, knowing smile and nearly cried again for the sweeping pain that passed through her chest at the sight of the fierce man crumpled, defenseless, and vulnerable in her bed. She had no answers, and somehow she didn't need them. So she let her heart swell, and leaned forward. Placing a feather kiss on the mark on his head she whispered. "Arigato."

Gaara slept. Gaara dreamt. Gaara woke.

Sakura cleaned. Sakura waited. Sakura spoke.

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And to everyone who has reviewed my stories, even the ones I had to take down, I want to say thank you. Really it's you guys that keep me writing.

Arigato gozaimasu!

:bows deeply:


	2. Dream

**Title:** Sleep.Dream.Wake.Live**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto and I am in NO way affiliated with Masashi Kishimoto-sama. :pout: He's doing a great job, though. Ganbatte Kishimoto-sama.**  
Rating: **T  
**Summary:** Gaara sleeps and dreams and wakes with a hole in his chest and an image of pink, green, red, and pale skin drawing him out and away from what he used to be. He finds her broken and covered in blood that's not her own. Will they ever find solace?**  
Authors Notes: **I dedicate this chapter to Chixon because she gave me the wonderful new title. Everyone thank her before the title totally sucked before.

The style has changed, and I've actually tried my hand at a little humour, I know it may not work, so let me know.

* * *

"Ohayo, Gaara-sama." Sakura's unfathomably bright voice greeted him as his eyes slanted sideways past the filtering morning light to focus on the pink across the room. But as the sleep crept from his scenes and his eyes un-blurred, he realized it was a towel. "Couchirou." She instructed, sensing his confusion. 

He turned his pale, withered face to the woman with her back to the wall. "Hm." He responded, expertly avoiding any sense of apprehension for the sheets over his skin or the cresting sun. Her green eyes locked on the opened window as the pinks, reds, and oranges peaked past the tress. He began the business of detangling himself from the white cotton coffin he'd locked himself into. He sat and was painfully aware that she was now leaning her arm on his gourd. Anger, anxiety, mortality, fear. He was unfamiliar with how to proceed. He almost wished he still had another voice in his head, just to give a suggestion.

"Ah, gomen, gomen." She responded steadily, standing and side stepping his approaching form. He reached for the familiar, worn leather strap and went about the business of slipping it on and quickly lacing the white sash around it and himself.

"How long?" his curt, familiar voice filled the room for the first time. She thought it seemed a little out of place. After all, she'd never had a man in her room before. But she didn't think telling him that would satisfy the irritated look in his eyes.

"Only through the night." She responded, on her way to the bed. She knew it didn't matter. But her hands itched to keep busy. And the unmade sheets and rumpled pillows called her attention.

"No." he responded again, annoyed with having to repeat or clarify himself. It was not something he was accustomed to doing. She turned, innocent eyes, pink hair falling around her face. She wasn't wearing her headband, he wished she would. The twinge in his fingertips to pull the hair out of her face was annoying as well. He frowned. She smiled.

"Nani?" so naïve, so young. He felt a million years older than her. She was a child, an innocent. He remembered slamming her against a tree, wild eyes and brilliant defiance flashed behind his closed eyes. Maybe she wasn't _that_ young. He sighed, but feeling incomplete yet again he crossed his arms and pinned her with a glair. She didn't seem to notice.

His increasing frown and angry glair was nothing normal. Being around Sasuke for so long had at least prepared her for that. It made her heart ache to know that Sasuke was the bad guy now, while the strange red-haired Kage in her room was an ally. He looked more aggravated and spoke again.

"How long since my death." The words were effortless, but the feigned disinterest that colored his face was painfully clear. Anger, hatred, pity, confusion. Human, she reminded herself.

"Only a week or so." She turned back to the bed and started straightening pillows and yanking at the sheets. It all seemed hopelessly pointless, seeing as she was just going to mess it all up tonight again. Change, he reminded himself was something most feared and he was no exception. Perhaps this was part of her normalcy. She stilled her movements, and he watched fixed on her dark form. "How long was I?" the sickening sweetness that was before present slipped away and was buried by a deep sadness that coated her words.

"A day." She turned her head over her shoulder and gave a quick nod. Then, like a cloud passing over the sun, the sadness was gone and it seemed as though even her hair brightened. "You shouldn't drink so much." The words escaping his lips nearly surprised him. He hadn't intended to speak. So he frowned even deeper.

She didn't respond. Truthfully his presence in her room was making her head spin. "Why are you here?" she chose to go with blunt rather than inconspicuous. She finished making her bed and turned fully to face the enigma.

"I do not know." He concluded with a slight cock of his head to the left and returned her intense gaze. "May I eat?" regal, elegant as a Kage should be. She wondered what had changed so much in him since those lonely days as a genin.

"Hai." Even if he wasn't her Kage, he was a nation's beloved and feared leader. She responded dutifully with all the respect she knew he deserved. Sand was a new ally of the leaf; whatever his reasons were he obviously was not hostile. But if she was truthful with herself for even a moment she would be forced to admit that there was more behind the dutiful politeness. There was gratitude that accompanied the lingering memory of his hands holding her hair back while she vomited. So responded in a gracefully bow.

She bowed deeply, bending perfectly at the waist. Classically trained, she was obviously no stranger to greeting diplomats. He tilted his head just enough to show he acknowledged her reverence and followed her retreating form back into the kitchen.

They maintained the silence as the minutes stretched out. The only sounds were that of the clinks of a pot on the stove and cabinets opening. When the water finally ran, the sun was leaking in through the grime on her kitchen window. He stood with his side against the wall, watching her movements. He had no real interest in the activities of making ramen, but watching her pink hair sway back and forth as she busied herself made him feel lightheaded. After all, the reason he had fled his home was standing in front of him, he saw no harm in indulging himself the luxury of watching. She didn't seem to notice, so he continued.

Her tan skirt moved with her, and the muscles slid under the smooth layer of skin as she reached for this, or bent for that. The two perfect round orbs of her backside were currently occupying his line of vision when a knock at the door pulled him from his musings.

He made no effort to move and her eyes met his, almost expectantly. She wasn't sure what she was asking him with her eyes, but the nearly boiling water, and the flour and dough that covered her hands were a kind of indication. She lifted a pink eyebrow at him and watched with curious fascination as his frown deepened.

He uncrossed his arms, and pushed off from the white wall. The short trip through the living room was not long enough to decide what exactly he was doing. But the doorknob under his finger turned so he pulled. Actions seemed to be happening without his knowledge of them. He blamed the imprinted picture of her upturned eyebrow at him.

"Ga…Gaara?" silver hair occupied his vision and clouded the rising sun at his back. The man in question was her former sensei, he knew this and memories of distant deserts and idle threats filled his head. He stood, unmoving at the sight of vague familiarity. The man seemed to regain his senses soon after and bowed fully. "Kazekage-sama, ohayo."

He gave a subtle glance over his shoulder towards the pitiful kitchen to his back. There was no pink, he wasn't sure what to make of that. So he turned back and gave a little nod of recognition.

"Is Sakura here?" the half lidded eye flickered past him, for a second, and then was back. He could feel the man's apprehension rising, he pitied him. He didn't like that feeling. There was something thing he was missing. The disheveled appearance of the man signified he'd just arrived back from a mission. So why had he not gone home to rest, or fill out paper work. There was indeed something quiet wrong with the whole situation. The state which he found the kunoichi the night before was proof of that.

He nodded and opened the door fully to allow the taller man entrance. His eyes moved rapidly around the room, finally resting on the kitchen that was emanating the smell of cooking ramen. But there was another smell he tried to place as he shut the door. It registered as acidic, and instantly he knew, as did the inu shinobi, what it was.

Silver hair moved faster through the entranceway. Gaara was only a second behind, hands clenching at his sides. Tears, fresh, free flowing tears. He'd seen her cry in the dark of the night, and smelled the sake on her breath. But in the daylight it almost seemed too depressing to bear. Her tears were suffocating the air in the room, invading his mind.

He turned to corner to see her cradled form in the arms of the other man. Kakashi, part of his mind corrected him. He stood, unsure what to do or what he had missed in the minute and a half it took to answer the door. So he stood and watched as her frail, mortal form shook with the weight of her own sobbing. He was unable to look away and the powerful man enveloped her in his arms and lifted her frame up effortlessly. He remained in place as the other two bodies brushed past him and disappeared behind the bedroom door.

Instead his face turned to the water bubbling over and sizzling on the stove. He moved then, drawn in by the sent of savory noodles and warm broth. The wooden spoon in his hands and the ingredients finally in the pot finally gave way to an opened door and emerging form.

"Dojobu nanica? His back was still turned, but he knew it wasn't the female that surfaced. The smooth ripple of his voice flexed and Kakashi trailed into the kitchen with long, slow steps. He was testing the air in the room with his sensitive nose, searching for answers. Gaara found none.

"She's sleeping." Kakashi settled for crossing his arms and learning with his back against the wall much as he had just been doing earlier. "I didn't expect to find you here…" he knew there was more to the thought. But that didn't interest him; whatever the older man was going to say was unimportant. He interrupted.

"What happened?" he reached for the bowls she had laid out before her relapse into the oblivion. He ladled out a portion for himself and turned to face Kakashi and ate. He hardened his eyes at the sight of just barely visible anger dancing through his face. But then there was something else, pain. Gaara took a bite and had to control the gag that threatened to overtake his expression. He swallowed with great effort and placed the bowl back on the counter. He made a note to himself. Learn to cook.

"Naruto is dead." The calloused expression and sweeping grief that nearly crippled Gaara's featured was evident. But it made sense, her heart wrenching sobs and drowning in hidden bottles of sake.

"Doshde?" he couldn't be sure, but he had the sudden and overwhelming feeling of icy fingers closing around his heart. From deep inside he felt something break, or tear. It was violent and completely unexpected. With the demon that occupied his thoughts before, he'd never really been able to feel his own emotions. But now his stoic features felt heavy and out of place. His fists clenched and he wished he could still release the demonic rage in his heart. He didn't like the feeling that washed over him. And desperately he shut his eyes to block out the sensation of burning in his eyes. "How could Uzumaki be dead?"

There was no answer, he wasn't sure if he expected any. So he stood, fists clenched, eyes shut, grieving and yet not knowing what it was called. He saw bright blue eyes and flamboyant yellow hair; unruly attitude and unrelenting dreams. Hatefully anger filled the empty hole in his chest and made it hard to breath. He felt like he was gasping and maybe he was. He didn't open his eyes; he knew the disgusting tears would fall. His finger itched to touch soft pink hair and drown in her sent. He wanted to crawl into bed next to her and sleep forever. But there was something more than that too, he realized with agonizing certainty. He craved to wrap his arms around her and shield her. He wanted to protect her; the urge was so strong he opened his eyes with a new found strength.

"Soca. You may leave now. She is under my care." He informed the jounin with a dangerous voice as he made his way to the bedroom door. Pink, green, red, and pale skin.

"Ah, Kazekage-sama I can look after her. You really don't need to be here." Kakashi lifted his hands to stop the former monster in his tracks. There was a threat there; he could see it in the taller man's eyes. He didn't pay attention. He was a ruthless killer, defender of flower petals. He pushed the last thought from his mind and continued forward, unhindered.

"Move aside." He only offered the short sentence as a pointed retaliation. He knew the sharingan user was aware of the meaning behind his words. "I have a debt to repay to Uzumaki; I will care for her in his stead. He would wish it so." The layer of sand that dripped down his front and over Kakashi's hand was the only indication that the boy was already gone. As the sand clone slithered away Gaara was in the room, pulling the gourd from his back.

He didn't understand all the emotions he felt, he didn't know what to do or how to stop the throbbing in his soul. After his slumber he entertained the notion that he had changed. His first transformation took place in this village at the hands of the other Jinchuuriki. His second was yet again under the hands of the same, unrelenting boy.

The leather strap slipped from his hands as his mind raced to understand what this new chakra flow in his system was. It was not the monster he was accustom to, and yet it was not his own. He hadn't had much time to adjust to the new power that flowed in him. But being the Kage of the suna offered for previous interactions with Chiyo-sama. He recalled before his sleep that he could still feel her presence from within him. And now, with a kind of epiphany he was proud to admit he recognized this new chakra too.

Although it had lain dormant in him until now, there was no mistaking that kind of fitful restlessness. Naruto's chakra crackled inside him, itching to be closer to her. There was a demand in his heart that pulled him forward. The strange yearning to hold her, protect her, love her. He was sure now that it was Naruto's power in him that burned to protect her at all cost. Even if the pain she was feeling was because of his death. His soul now had a new container to invade and dominate. He was powerless to stop this force. But unlike the monster that had tried in vain to control him, Gaara found his own heart giving in to the plea of his former comrade.

He set his hands on the edge of the bed and bowed his head in the morning light to look at the sleeping girl. The icy fingers returned again, but this time he let himself indulge in a wince of phantom pain. In the solitary confines of her room he registered the shut of the front door. The inu jounin was gone, he was glad. The protective surge that gripped his world dissipated just a little.

She was so little, so small, so fragile. He felt if he breathed too hard, he might break her. So he dropped to his knees and rested his weary chin on the soft fabric of the bed. He frowned, thinking of how she'd just made it. He frowned even deeper knowing she'd just make it again. He reached his hand across the white sheets to gently touch the back of her tiny ones. They were scared and rough; a shinobi's hands.

A silent tear slid down her cheek. He could almost taste it own his own lips and he suddenly hated that tear. It wanted to exterminate it from his world. He wished he could trap it and torture it so it would know better than to mar her perfect skin. He reached for it, and brushed a calloused thumb over supple pink lips wet with her own tears.

There was a sad little sob as she blindly reached forward, gripping the thick red material of his shirt. Desperate, vibrant green eyes met confusing pupil-less ones. "Naruto?" frantic pleading filled her voice as she held firmly to him. He moved his hands to cover hers with slow determination.

"Eya." He shook his head and hung his eyes low. She could have sworn she just felt Naruto's presence in her room. But it was Gaara's face that greeted her, bland, broken, pale, powerful, lonely. She had expected to see Kakashi, but was surprisingly alright with her new companion. His emotionless eyes were a great reprieve from her all too expressive ones. She wished she had more sake.

"Why… why are you here." Her gentle voice, racked with pain and guilt met his stinging ears past the pounding flow of his heart. Her hands still clenched beneath his, she didn't seem inclined to move them. He wasn't going to make her. Besides, it felt more like she was holding on to him rather than trying to push him away.

"I have a debt to repay." He repeated and frowned to know that he had done so. He should have thought of another way to phrase it. "I owe him at least this much." For unknown reasons he could feel a tint of softness appear on the edges of his words. He didn't like it, but from the sweeping, shuddering breath she took, she had. So he did it again. "I will be looking after you. Sleep now, you are safe." Then he released her hand and savored in the knowledge that she let her free hand linger in his shirt.

It was the tendril of tantalizing hope he gave her that made her hands stay entwined in his shirt and gaze into the newly kind eyes. Even with the deep black rims, they were a new shade of peaceful she had never noticed before. Although she knew it was ridiculous, his presence near her was calming. It was almost like an anesthetic to her grief.

She knew it was crazy, she understood it was the haze of paralyzing fear that ripped her future that made her do it. Be regardless of her insane reasons, she let her hand pull tighter at the smooth fabric and pull forward. With her fists still balling his shirt in her hand she turned her back to him, feeling his weight on the soft mattress has his body made contact.

He didn't question her actions, but smoothly slid into the soft sheets with her. His tentative hands hesitated as his mind screamed for him to wrap her in his arms. He'd never been one to hesitate and he didn't enjoy the feeling of the uncertainty in his fingers. So he let his heart pull him close to her, her back flush against his chest and drop a trembling arm over her waist.

There was no apprehension as she wiggled back to further fuse her aching body against him. Even if he was shorter than the man she was imagining, it didn't matter. He was strong, he was here. He was going to protect her, he was a nice monster. He was so like him in so many ways. But now this man was a kind hearted, benevolent Kage and she was a selfish killer. It was her fault he was dead, it was her choice to leave him. But now Gaara was here, and she didn't know why. So she didn't question anymore but let the hypnotizing feel on his strong chest rise and fall against her back lull her to sleep.

She fell into a shallow, fitful sleep as he continued to hold her all though the passing day. Eventually he closed his weary eyes and let his sore body enjoy the growing familiarity of sweet oblivion rising from the darkness to overtaking him. But still he held her, and part of him was quieter for it. He felt at peace, completed in some way he wasn't even aware he was lacking. But then there was the Gaara side, the side that made the mass in his chest shudder at the feel of her stomach just past the cloth under his fingertips. But he shut him out and let the power of the man he admired and now mourned manifest and delight in the sensation of her in his arms.

They slept. They dreamt. They woke.

* * *

The first line was a little tribute to wayofthepen's 'Good Morning Gaara'. It's a cute little fic about the same concept. She posted hers first, but I swear I didn't copy the idea; I was already working on mine when I saw hers. But check it out, I think there's a sequel to it now too.

To SilverSimoneLady, your words of encouragement and praise have been great. I read it whenever I'm feeling a little blue, which if you look at my stories is quite often.

To Statik, thanks watching this and for the comment.

TrueLoveHurts, Thank you for your kind words. I really appriciated them.

Finally, CrazyBananaTree, great name by the way, you saved this story. I wasn't even going to post this chapter for a while but you made me change my mind and keep going with chapter 3, which is almost done now! Yay.


	3. Wake

**Title:** Sleep.Dream.Wake.Live**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto and I am in NO way affiliated with Masashi Kishimoto-sama. :pout: He's doing a great job, though. Ganbatte Kishimoto-sama.**  
Rating: **T  
**Summary:** Gaara sleeps and dreams and wakes with a hole in his chest and an image of pink, green, red, and pale skin drawing him out and away from what he used to be. He finds her broken and covered in blood that's not her own. Will they ever find solace?**  
Authors Notes:** Yay, Chapter 3! I'm soooo tired. I think I'm going to have to drop out of college because it's getting in the way of my anime! But its okay, I'm almost done. Only one more semester and then I'll be... going to Grad school. Ugh. :sighs: oh well.

* * *

There was a chill in the air when at long last green eyes met in the mid-afternoon light. Sakura swore that the thick black lines that circled his eyes had begun to shrink a little. She wrinkled her nose diminutively at the thought of Gaara with no black, she didn't like it. He watched in muddled disinterest as her face crinkled, at what he could only imagine. It occurred to him then how close their faces were. 

Somehow during their sleep she managed to twist in his arms to face him. He made no move to rectify the situation but instead tipped his head up and pulled her closer. No longer wishing to see the hurt painted in her eyes, her breathe on his neck was much more soothing. He tried not to dwell on the idea that she brought him any kind of comfort.

She didn't object to the possessive gesture, but instead tucked her head under his chin and breathed him in. There was just something so familiar about it, about him. The aura he surrounded her with was like a fresh, warm, summer air as it rolled threw open fields of uncut grass. It reminded her of someone else. So she closed her eyes and imagined yellow hair and blue eyes still shinning in the sunlight. Somewhere, faintly in the back of her mind it registered that this was not something she should be doing. But that thought was so far away, and he was so close. So she gripped his shirt in her fists and snuggled closer. Even if she knew it was a lie, it was a kind lie – to think of him as someone else. She felt safe.

She pulled closer to him and he almost hissed. Inside him raged a battle of wills. There was the side of him that wanted to pull her so close they became one and were never alone again. But then there was the residual hate that accompanied the lonesome desire to belong with anyone else. It was a weakness to love or become attached. He was a great Kage, now self exiled from his own kingdom wrapped in the sheets of an unfamiliar bed, holding onto someone else's flower petal.

She thought back to the restless sleep they shared. It seemed as though every few hours one would wake to shake the other from some nightmare. The first time her hands touched his face to pull him from the distasteful images she was met with wild, untamed eyes. The image still burned in her mind sent a shiver down her spin. He'd look so lost, so confused, so human then. She reminded herself for what seemed like the millionth time that he was new to the sleeping concept and perhaps it had been his first nightmare.

She thought back to his question and considered asking him why he didn't know how long it had been since his demise. But she knew the answer was simple, after a lifetime of no sleep, a week and a half of sleeping was not out of the question. She wasn't sure how much time had passed since she pulled him into bed with her after Kakashi's visit. But it couldn't have been more than a day and a half.

Kakashi. He'd just arrived back from a mission after a few days recovery from the mission to save Gaara. But all at once, his voice was in her house and she was falling. Tears sliding, tile cracking against her bare knees because she knew he'd just found out. It was pain and sweeping regret all over. It was her fault he was dead, and him in her home was burdening. She was glad he was gone now and the red-haired Kage was still here. She didn't understand why, his cryptic explanation was a muffled confession at best.

He contemplated rolling her away from him and leaving. He contemplated running his fingers through her hair. He contemplated kissing the top her head. He contemplated the implications of his actions. He contemplated sliding his other hand from the small of her back to cup her butt and slide over her smooth thighs. He contemplated hating himself more than he did at that moment. He contemplated what it would be like to love her the way Uzumaki did. He found this though the most disturbing of all, but like a sick fascination he couldn't tear his thoughts away.

The foreign symbol on his forehead ached and radiated with untapped, childish desire to love and be loved. The more he tried to push the idea of loving such a frail and mortal creature from his mind, the more the feeling of her breath on his neck, her hands wrapped in his shirt, her chest rise and fall against his, her body pressed against his, and her legs wrapped around and in-between his made him think that it felt right in a way nothing had ever felt right before.

He rationalized it to blame it on Uzumaki and Chiyo, who he was well aware, had risked her life to save the leaf first. There was such a swell in him to protect her, to love her, to hold her, to be with her that he couldn't stop his hand from moving. No more than he could stop himself from enjoying the feel of her silky pink locks running between his fingers. It was better than sand, smoother, almost like water. Water, to all desert people is precious, and delicate. It is to be treasured and protected. He liked this thought very much. After all, he was a great Kage of his people, and he did what he pleased. And at that moment imagining loving the girl in his arms pleased him. So he did.

She was desperately trying to block out the tears that she could feel swell in her heart when his hands started running through her hair. Then, just as suddenly and chillingly as the urge to cry to death had overtaken her, it was gone. His hands soothed her rattled nerves and slowed her heart to a bearable pace. She knew then that she was in trouble. There was no way that this strange, dangerous, cold man should be calming her aching heart. She wanted to crawl in him and never let go, he was her last hope for absolution. She was so focused on matching her breathing to his; she missed the first knock at her door.

It was his grunt that alerted her to the second and quiet persistent thud of fisted flesh to hard wood. "Go away." She muttered into his chest and made no effort to move. There was another knock and another and another. She sighed heavily and peered up into his pale green eyes. "Onegai." She wasn't exactly sure what she was pleading for just then, but as his body began to peal away from hers, gently taking care to detangle his legs and her hands and stand next to the bed that she understood too.

He looked down at her and frowned. It was her heavy sigh on his neck that had finally convinced him to move and not the longing, pleading look she gave him from her place in his arms. Or at least that's what he told himself as he opted not to bother with the gourd and trudged to the front door. A flash of her alone in the big white bed filled his mind as he twisted the knob and let the noontime sunlight in.

"Kazekage-sama, I was informed you were here." The tall blood woman with honey brown eyes spoke confidently and with all the grace that a fellow Kage should. The light blue diamond that adorned her forehead was as prominent as ever in the midday sun.

"Ah." He offered unceremoniously as he gave a short bow. It was her village, he respected that. Even if he had ignored the proper procedures to enter the village or request permission to stay. But then again, if he recalled correctly she was never one to obey all the rules either. "Godaime, would you like to enter?" he gestured inside and nearly winced at the angry look that covered her features.

"Are you in the habit of inviting people into someone else's home, Kazekage-sama?" he wasn't exactly sure as he was busy listening to soft feet on wood floors in the next room but he could have sworn that there was a kind of mocking in her tone. He ignored it as the bedroom door opened, revealing a disheveled, stunning form. Her outfit was wrinkled and crooked, her hair was rumpled and in disarray. He wasn't quite sure what it was about her appearance that stirred the desire to gasp. Everything about her, from her parted pink lips to her bare feet made him wish he could taste her. He ignored it and moved aside to allow the other woman entrance.

"Tsunade-shishou, please come in." Sakura offered as she stood at the door to her bedroom. She'd heard her teacher's voice from bed and let it move her into the land of the waking, finally. She quickly glanced at Gaara, only to find him running his eyes over her figure. She felt a little self-conscious, knowing she must look horrible after crying herself to sleep and just waking up. She ran a hand through her hair and moved forward to greet her Kage.

"Ohayo." Tsunade's voice greeted her with a stark edge. She knew the woman to be fiercely protective, and no doubt Kakashi had gone right to her after… when was it? How long had they slept? She wasn't sure, but she spared him a passing glace as she moved forward into the living room area. Tsunade finally stepped over the threshold while a silent Gaara closed the door to the heat. She looked at him for a moment while Tsunade busied herself with sitting on the neutral beige couch.

He looked smaller for some reason. Maybe it was the gourd, or the fact that he was still shorter than she was. But in the shadows cast by the sunlight through the kitchen window over his bleak, expressionless face he looked almost uncomfortable. But then he moved, and it was gone – washed away on a sea of powerful, pointed movements. Towards her, she realized almost too late as he was suddenly too close. He was invading her personal space and she had to repress the desire to draw back.

But it wasn't from fear. She could no longer fear him; instead the overwhelming urge to step closer was what caused the desire to withdrawal. She felt like she was being sucked into the tiny orbit that surrounded him. She was being drawn in, by distant, painful familiarity and a mutual pain. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before she dared to move. Sakura stepped forward and tried to ignore the fact that he was so close, her shirt pass over his shoulder. She couldn't let her eyes meet his, instead choosing to study her worn wood floors intensely as it transformed into a floor rug, like magic.

But she was compelled then to stop and turn back just sparing enough courage to look over her shoulder. "Arigato. You can shower if you want." She didn't wait to see what he would do, but turned from him and finally sat across from Tsunade with her back to the kingdom-less Kage.

Gaara watched with a sad kind of expectation to see her turn again. She didn't. He left the room, angry at himself for wanting her to turn and angry at her for not giving him what he wanted. He was angry at the sun for waking them, and the blond for taking her presence from him. It was different inside the confines of the small room. In here, there was nothing else but sleep and truth. Green eyes and shared grief. The entire world revolved around the bed and he wondered if it would be as sweet without her there.

He closed the door behind him and glared at his gourd. He almost resented it, for reminding him of what was taken from him. But there was something else there too. Perhaps it was a hatred for reminding him what he could no longer be. Being a monster was simpler than trying to be human. Tired of his treacherous thoughts, he cleared his mind with forceful control and stepped into the impossibly pink bathroom.

It had always amazed him how freely other people waste water. But here it dripped from all the faucets and pooled in the bottomless drains. With careful consideration he glanced at the towel rack and might have even given thanks to a deity of some kind at the sight of the brown towel jammed in between the pink. Too much pink, he would have to fix that. He made another note to himself, less pink would be better.

He stripped with a sudden urgency to bathe. Even for a desert dweller, two weeks was far too long to go without cleaning. With a trepidation he was unused to, he pulled the dirty and newly revolting clothes from his body and let them crumple into a lonely heap on the cold tile floor. He could still hear voices from the next room over and he was moved with the desire to put more space between his naked body and the door.

The shower was just as pink as the rest of her world. Pink shampoo, pink soap, pink… spongy thing? He let his finger poke at the unfamiliar object, of which he could only speculate the uses. Nonetheless, hot water beckoned him as he let his hand rest on the faucet that warmed from the flowing water. There was something quite close to relief welling up inside him as the distant voices disappeared behind the steady flow of water.

He liked the shower, he decided after a few minutes of lingering in the warm water. The sand washed away and he liked the idea of being sand free, if only for a little while. But this thought was met with the stunning nothingness of a lacking demon voice and bitter, absent, anger. He smirked, yes – the singular voice in his mind was content to stand alone in its opinion of missing sand and clean skin.

He eyed the hair products with weary thoughts. He wondered if his hair would turn pink. He senses were suddenly assaulted with the un-welcomed image of the fearsome Kage with bright pink hair flowing in the breeze. He repressed the urge to be sick. Then he tried to repress the urge to openly laugh. So he smirked in the safety of a lonesome shower and indulged in the passing humor he felt at his own imagination.

After reading, and re-reading the directions, ingredients and paying special attention to the warnings, he finally let the want for clean, un-greased or gritty hair overtake him. The pink, viscous shampoo was a stark contrast to his pale skin and black rimmed eyes. With only the distant fear of pink hair still occupying his thoughts, he didn't seem to notice at first when the door to the bathroom inched open.

"Ano…" a gentle voice filled his ears and he was struck by the sudden urge to summon his sand. But the water flowing over his shoulders and pooling at his feet made him frown with bitter discontent.

"Yes?" he was almost surprised at how harsh his own word sounded as it echoed off the walls and reverberated back to him. He frowned deeper and looked at the pink shampoo in his hand. He wished there was more of a distance between him and the presence he now felt invade his personal space, like a lead door.

"Ah, I was just wondering if you'd like me to wash your clothes while you're in there." Her voice was so close; he knew she was at the doorway. He wanted to look, to see the pink hue that saturated her face as she tried not to look at the plane white shower curtain. She was probably looking at the floor, but not the mirror. He frowned again at his own insolence. Then he frowned even deep at the passing sensation of dissatisfaction for his frown.

Frustration pooled in him and bubbled over in a light growl. "Fine." the shampoo was all but gone now, dripping away in the steam of the shower. He stood, half clean, half terrified of the woman at the door and wished for distance. He wished for his gourd. He wished for a change. With startling certainty he was sure that a piece of him wished for her to enter the flowing water stream with him. He hated that thought and banished it. "What will I wear in the meantime?"

"I have a robe. I'll leave it for you." Sakura tried to keep her eyes focused on the pretty tile floor. There were alternating pink and white tiles about a foot wide, each. She'd picked them out herself, she like being surrounded by pink. It was comforting. She was trying desperately to keep the image of the great Kage standing with bubbling pink shampoo dripping from his red hair. She didn't think it was nice that the giggle was so hard to suppress. Not that he would use her shampoo anyway, it was just a silly thought.

"It's not pink is it?" the deep, baritone voice of the showering man was sudden and quite unexpected. She was so surprised she looked up, almost expecting to meet his pale green eyes. Instead she was graced with the white shower curtain and the vague outline form of a person just beyond it.

"Nani?" for some reason she laughed. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was the picture of him standing in her living room in her pink bunny robe, or maybe it was the idea that he'd pictured that too. She laughed. It was nice, it felt good and familiar. She was sure he didn't understand why she was laughing and she tried desperately to stifle the outrageous giggles, but it was all in vain. Her body shook with the quaking laughs and she wrapped her arms around her waist to hold everything in. She felt like she would split at the seams. She gasped for air and was rewarded with a snort. She laughed harder.

He frowned; the sudden outburst had caught him so off guard he'd nearly flung himself against the tiled wall of the shower. But she just continued to laugh, and then there was that noise she'd made. It was almost like she was dying. Unable to restrain himself anymore, he made careful effort to peer around the edge of the curtain. She was standing there in the doorway clutching her sides and laughing. He'd never seen someone laugh like that before. It was uncomfortable to watch, but he felt like if he looked away he'd regret it later. How often did he get to see someone brought such joy for something he'd said? So he watched.

Finally she seemed to settle down and peered at him with watery eyes. Her face was flushed and her lips were parted while she breathed deeply. He knew then he should have looked away, but he found he was unable to. He could feel a shift inside him, something dangerously close to desire. But then she blinked at him, almost surprised he was there and the feeling was gone. He took a breath and realized that he'd been holding it. He frowned. It was getting ridiculous. He made a note to himself. Frown less. Then, just for good measure he added a follow up: make her laugh more. She looked better when she smiled. It pleased him when she looked better. He frowned again; he was going to have to work harder at this.

"Ah gomen, gomen Gaara." She waved her hand at him and turned to leave. "Daijobu. It's brown." Then there was suffocating space between himself and the door. He suddenly wished she would leave it open. The steam was filling his lungs and he took deeper breaths to even himself out. He returned to the task of washing his hair but now found that it was less apprehensive. The fear of pink attire he'd just felt was much more frightening. With almost no trepidation he let the soap pour into his hand and lather through his blood-red locks.

He heard the door open, yet again but this time there was just the muffled sounds of cloth on porcelain. He tried to ignore it and her as he ran his rough fingers through course, newly clean hair. He tried to ignore the closing door and the swell of disappointment. So he ended his shower, glad for the new slick feeling of his skin under the brown towel he was proud to have discovered in her cavern of pink. He frowned as he ran his ringers through his hair to dry it. It wasn't nearly as soft as hers, even though he'd used the same water and shampoo as her. Even when it was wet it was coarser that hers.

He wrapped the brown robe around his waste and made a slow exit from the pink haven into the dim bedroom. She'd pulled down the shades but was no where in sight. He gave a quick look over to his gourd, but the idea of wrapping it around him while he was still in her old, brown bathrobe seemed a little ridiculous. He left it as it was, almost sad for leaving it alone in the dark room. He contemplated opening the blinds so it could have some light, but he realized he was crazy in a newly un-sadistic way and left promptly to join her in the kitchen.

Fresh dumplings greeted him as he rounded the corner, his mouth watered almost immediately and he was suddenly quite aware of the hollow feeling in his stomach. There were two sets of them laid out at the table. She was standing near the stove as she cleaned. She was always busy, and he knew that if she ever stopped, she would break. So he sat and watched her, and waited. Eventually, she'd sit and he could eat. He gave a slow, almost lusty glance at the dumplings that were dripping with a pear sauce. He wanted them.

"Go ahead." She was looking at him with a strange kind of sideways smirk that made him tilt his head so that it would look straight. He looked back at the food in front of him and silently prayed that she was a better cook than he was. The first bit was… perfect. Perfectly prefect, he was inclined to describe it from the safety of his own mind – and each bite after that was just the same. She giggled, he was starving. "You can have mine too, I'm not hungry."

She watched him practically inhale the dumplings and felt guilty for not feeding him like she said she would the previous day. But in the back of her mind, his empty eyes gazed at her through the darkness. She watched him eat her portion and rested a single hand on her waste. Again, she was assaulted with the desire to be closer to him, like he could keep the grief out. It was with that thought and the absurd realization that it was true that she let her weak legs carry her forward and slump in the chair across from him.

"Did you know?" she spoke to her table top, fearful of the empty green eyes and the answer that hung in the space between them. "Is that why you came, because you knew he was dead?" Tsunade's visit was still fresh in her mind.

She'd asked Sakura why he was in her home. She had no answer. She asked her why he came. She had no answer. She asked her why she let him stay. She had no answer. She asked her what she was planning on doing. She had no answer. She asked her if she slept with him, she blushed and refused to answer. She asked her why she blushed. She had no answer. So she asked him, with a false kind of hope that he would have answers to all her questions.

He looked up, and curiously there was nothing hollow about his eyes then. In the late afternoon light they were remarkably… whole. "No." He sat, unmoved to relief the growing discontent in her chest. So she folded her hands in her lap and tried to understand the strange expression that kept crawling up from the haze of the night he'd come.

"Then why did you come?" she questioned him for a second time with a weary heart and defeated tone. She gave him one deciding look before adding a quick, "…and don't tell me you don't know." He seemed to narrow his eyes a little but not enough to make her think he was really angry, it was more like a surrender.

"I was drawn here." He was uncomfortable with the current line of questioning. He knew why he had come, she was sitting in front of him in the fading sunlight, sulking. But there was no tactical way to admit that and still be permitted to share her bed tonight. Then the sudden, paralyzing fear of sleeping alone gripped at his insides. It was an un-welcomed development. He frowned, he was failing miserably. "I slept and when I awoke, I was drawn here…" he sighed and closed his eyes, resigned to at least maintain some semblance of dignity. "…to you." He opened his eyes to see the last fleeting specter of shock dance across her face. "I believe it was Uzumaki's chakra that drew me here."

She nodded, not quite understanding what it all meant. But the memory of the previous night when she pulled him close and it felt so much like Naruto filtered in through her battered mind and made her pause. Perhaps that was why she let him stay, or pulled him into bed, or had the desperate urge to cling to him. "Soca." She met his eyes once more over empty plates and the short table. "What did you mean when you said you 'had a debt to repay'?"

She watched as his frown deepened again. "Uzumaki helped me understand the value of 'important people.' It was because of this I became Kazekage." It was the most she'd ever heard him speak and she was sure the action would not soon be repeated. So instead of questioning further, she accepted it as it was, with a small sigh of a distant memory. "How did he die?"

She hadn't expected him to be so interested, but it only took one look at his sullen features to understand the agony that raged inside him. She bowed her head in shame, she'd caused that pain. "He transformed while fighting Orochimaru. When he finally reverted, he was too weak to go on. I could have sacrificed the mission to stay with him, but I didn't. I choose to continue on and leave him, injured." She felt the prick of tears in her eyes and she desperately wished she had more sake. "I just left him there so I could go chasing after Sasuke."

He was beginning to see the obvious signs of breakage, just around the corners of her words and in the back of her eyes. She wasn't going to be able to be whole much longer. His hand twitched to hold her and run his fingers though her hair. There was a deep rooted urge to speak, to comfort her so that look of absolute frailty would fade from her face. It almost hurt to look at. So he crosses his arms over his chest and watched her step closer and closer to the edge of her self-imposed breaking point.

"By the time we realized we'd lost their trail and made it back to Naruto… the kyuubi chakra had eaten away at his internal organs. He was gone. I let him die, I just let him die. It's my fault, I killed him. I killed him!" she stood, and he watched with a horrible sinking in his stomach as she wavered and tipped. He was up and moving before she reached the floor. He caught her head in his lap as his knees hit the floor. There was a loud crack of bone hitting tile, but it was barely audible over the sound of her heart ripping in half.

Her face twisted as the tears fell. So he sat on the floor of her kitchen, holding her and watching her cry for a mistake that wasn't really her fault and mourning for a life that she didn't really take. He was compelled now to comfort her, but his hands in her hair and running over her creased forehead didn't seem to sooth her cries at all. So he gathered her closer to him, folding her fisted hands over her chest and pulled her into his lap. He rested his chin on the top of her head and ignored the tears that rolled down his neck as they slipped from her face.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, living like the pain she felt. But eventually her sobs lulled and her hands clenching the robe loosened. The setting sun gave way to a dark night and the buzz of a drier. He was overwhelmed with the revolting realization that he was helpless. He hated it, and her tears and the grief that flooded his senses. Her pain was all he could see or touch or taste. She was clutching the robe and sobbing like it could turn back time. He hated not knowing how to stop it or how to make his own sinking regret dissipate.

So he moved her up through the cloud of grief that surrounded them and made his was to the dark bedroom, and distant promises of sleep. He twisted as covered shins hit a soft mattress and leaned in and over. Her tiny frame settled on cold sheets as he took his faintly familiar place next to her. He lacked the basic words to sooth her bruised soul so instead of words he ran his hands down her back and whispered soft hushing noises in her ear. In the passing heartache that covered her he pulled her close and breathed her in because as mush as he hated himself with each passing minute – she brought him comfort.

He felt a shift in him, like the moon rising from the tree line, slow and constant. It was the shift of his hollow chest being filled by the whimpering woman in his arms. And he knew then what had changed in him. He looked down at her in his arms and pulled her close because he knew that after they slept and dreamt and woke – they would have to live. But he no longer knew how to live without her, because he was newly human and she'd taught his how to sigh and what it looked like to laugh until you couldn't breathe. He needed her scent, and her warm aura. He desire to be with her, and this did not please the Kage.

So he drifted off into a restless sleep full of mocking dreams and unfulfilled desires that he hated himself for. And all the while she inched closer to the fearsome monster who she no longer feared because even in her sleep she was drawn to him. The morning was perched on the horizon, ready to appear and she feared the life that would come after they woke.

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I just wanted to give a really quick thanks to anyone who's reviewed this, or added it as their favourite AND all those who've added this to their C2. I spent like 5 hours looking at every Naruto community and messaging anyone who would listen to get them to add it. I'm kind of obsessive like that... oh well. I hope everyone likes this and the update didn't take too long. Chapter 4 is coming along in pieces. I come up with an idea while I'm driving all over Miami and I try to write while I'm driving so I just wanted to say that if I die trying to finish this fic, that'll be okay with me. And SE - you get all my anime! 

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	4. Live

**Title:** Sleep.Dream.Wake.Live**  
Author:** Winter Ashby _(rosweldrmr)_  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Naruto and I am in NO way affiliated with Masashi Kishimoto-sama. :pout: He's doing a great job, though. Ganbatte Kishimoto-sama.**  
Rating: **T  
**Summary:** Gaara sleeps and dreams and wakes with a hole in his chest and an image of pink, green, red, and pale skin drawing him out and away from what he used to be. He finds her broken and covered in blood that's not her own. Will they ever find solace?**  
Authors Notes: **Okay, so I know this took me a little while, but it totally sucked before. I'm still not sure that I'm happy with this ending. Oh well, what's done in done. I don't want to make you guys wait anymore.

Sakura talks! Gaara talks! Oh my god, is that conversation? (Nods head) Well I tried, anyways... I hope this is to everyone's likes. There is a little, kind of implied-ness at the end, but I really tried hard to make nothing explicit, but anyway, that is the reason I've changed the rating.

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Sakura slept and dreamt of lifeless, cold, empty bodies as she drowned in a sea of red that should have been orange. She struggled against the pounding current and pulled her battered heart to the surface to breathe new air. But she choked on the green sky because it should have been blue and hated herself because she liked the red and green better than she'd ever loved the orange and blue. So she wept from her dreams and drew ever closer to the faceless shadow that stood behind her with gentle, strong hands and silent understanding. 

Sakura woke to find a vacant dip where his body should have been and she was gripped with the overwhelming urge to scream. But the terrible fear that clenched her heart and ripped at her throat stopped midway between sleep and dream as she made out his silent form leaning against the far wall, much like he had that first night. And she hated herself for the paralyzing fear that ate away within her then. So she looked past him to the closed door and wondered if she'd ever be whole again.

Gaara slept and dreamt and woke before the sun rose. He watched her sleep, and considered leaving her because it was her voice that pulled him from his dreams of pink orchards and silky skin. So he stood, finally looking into those deep green pools that drew him in and readied his gourd. He could see the fear well up in her eyes and he hated himself because he put it there. But it was his name spilling from her sleeping lips that had moved him to the opposite side of the room. And yet, he knew it wasn't far enough from her and her eyes and her complete dependence.

He could still hear his name dripping from her parted lips and the accompanying jealousy that gnawed at him. He was devastated at the prospect that he could be jealous of his own name. That was the moment he made the decision to stand and retreat from her domineering presence. The urge to lean in and run his tongue over her lips was suffocating. So he hated himself a little more than usual and decided with all the authority he still possessed: duties in the Wind County required his attention. He was still the Kazekage, but she was still in pain. So he stayed until her eyes met his and then he wished he hadn't.

She was mortal, flawed, damaged – and he was so drawn to her he could barely breath at the thought of spending a night without her. But she wasn't his and he had no right because the human Kage knew she dreamt of someone else while he held her. And suddenly all the empty space in the room wasn't enough for him. So he sighed and crossed his arms because this was his gesture now, and dared to look at her once more.

"Docoe?" her voice spurned the image of her alone in a huge bed and he closed his eyes closed to block it out. Why did she need such a large bed anyway? He pushed the thought back and focused on the hurt in her eyes because her pain gave him an unknown strength that made the hole left from Sabaku shrink. He didn't answer at first, unsure of what to say. So he stood, with his arms crossed and watched her watch him.

"There is something I must do." His vague answer worried her, for some reason. She was overtaken by the fearsome urge to take hold of him and demand he stay. It was only then that she realized he was once again dressed in the formal Kazekage's attire. It looked better than her old brown bathrobe, but she still hated it. And he wore his gourd again; it made him look much larger and more menacing. She hated it too, because she couldn't go with him and she hated herself because she wanted to.

"Soca." She was so small in that damn big bed, all he wanted to do was sit next to her and take up the space she filled with aching disappoint. He said nothing, but stood silently and enjoying the feel of the weight on his back. It felt natural, it felt like home. "Will you…" she started to speak but censored herself and started again. "Naruto's memorial is in three days, will you make it back in time?"

He looked away, as if her question was insulting. "Of course." He might have heard her sigh or whimper, but he wasn't sure. He was too busy trying to remain uninterested in her suffocating pain. Trying to pretend that he didn't care was eating away at the edges of his soul bit by bit until he feared that she would consume everything he was. Part of him liked this idea, part of him hated it and that little empty center of him mocked him with all the nothingness it gave on the topic. He wished he was still crazy, at least then he'd have something to blame these infuriating feelings on. He made a note to himself, crazy good, human bad.

Then he decided that the distance was too infuriating to continue, he took a small step from the wall toward her tiny form as it was swallowed by the stark, contrasting white linen. She watched him take a step and pause, like he was trying to decide if he really wanted to take another one. He looked tired in the sunrise; she wished she could hug him or hold him like he'd done for her the previous night. Sakura held the sheets just a little tighter knowing that she would have to sleep alone for three days, then the gripping fear that she may have to sleep alone forever pooled in her heart and made her inch forward just a little on the bed.

Gaara pondered the insignificance of her inching forward and decided that it was far too meaningful to comprehend. He took another step and had to restrain the urge to continue until he was so wrapped up in her he'd never be free again. Gaara scowled at the thought, it was different than a frown because you could see the tips of his teeth past his pursing lips. Gaara waited one more moment and tried to keep the infuriating thought and sentence from his mind. But she just looked so small, and alone. Gaara spoke. "Your fears are unfounded."

Sakura was still occupied with the all consuming fear of sleeping alone forever when he spoke she barely registered it. But once her clouded mind cleared, she tilted her head and tried to figure out if he could read her mind. She must have been wearing a confusing look on her face because he sighed, crossed his arms, took another step and closed his eyes. "You did not kill him." She was infuriating, and it was taking all the power he had to just take one step. Her pain angered him; he wished to stop the haunted look in her eyes.

She didn't understand how he could stand there: savior of her sanity; bringer of uncommon amusement; healer of broken hearts – and tell her that she wasn't responsible. She could still see his body lying in the clearing, motionless, lifeless. She inched closer. "But I left him."

"Eya." His voice was harsh, and dark. If it were a color she imagined it would be dark grey, like clouds that gathered in a violent thunderstorm when she sky turned green. He seemed quite intent on making her admit that she wasn't the murderer she knew in her heart she was. "You are no killer." She looked up at him in the growing light and stifled the urge to lunge into his arms and cry for all she was worth.

"How can you say that?" he watched, with only a minute amount of anger still swirling inside him. He wished he could just shake her until the traitorous thoughts fell from her mind so he could destroy them without breaking her further. He absolutely admonished himself for the plainly human desire to be compassionate. But he was human now, after all. The least he could do to repay her role in his recovery from the land of demon-less despair was to be honest.

"I can see it in your eyes – your pain. Murderers don't feel that kind of pain." He felt the sudden prick at the base of his skull where the most primitive of his desires still sat and waited to be released. That was where he felt the pull to be a mindless murderer the most. It was still there, or perhaps now it was just the lingering memory of what was once there. He mused that perhaps it was like an amputee who can still feel their limps – phantom pains. Were these dormant urges to destroy and breathe in thick heavy air filled with blood just the phantom pains of a life he used to live? He almost hoped so.

"How would you know?" She snapped and let the anger she held for herself cloud her thoughts and obscure the vision of him with a demon arm rising through the sunlight filtering through green leaves. He was terrifying then, he was angry now. She cowered because she knew he what he used to be.

"I know the feeling of innocent blood staining yours hands, because _I_ was a murderer." He let the malice coat his words as recalled those days with almost wistful adoration hidden just beneath the surface of petulant self hate. "I'm sure you remember." He bared his teeth at her, and she mustered all the courage she could and met his gaze.

"You _were_…?" her voice was once again soft, probing. Damn her for picking up on the entire wrong part of his chilling confession. And the momentary craving to fill her bitter green eyes with a fear that could finally drive her from his mind was short lived. She was stronger than she seemed and he was weaker than he cared to admit. He turned his face from her in the shadows of her room and wished for space.

"I am no longer the person I was." He was sure that he looked menacing with his arms across his chest and his teeth scowling at the prospect of her infuriating insight. And he was suddenly assaulted with the memory of her defiant green eyes as they slipped shut under the crushing weight of his sand. He hated that memory and himself for creating it with such glee. He paused to watch her and she frowned and seemed to settle back into her bed a little farther, angry.

"So you felt nothing when you tried to kill me?" He winced, noticeable in the sunlight, but made no more either towards her or away. She could still see him that day in the trees. She could taste her tears and feel her arms wrapped around a broken body. She tasted her own blood in her mouth as it mixed with heavy air and sand. It was everywhere, crawling over her skin and under her clothes and gripped at every inch of her body. The coming darkness brought the fading image of a defenseless boy and fox eyes burning with determination. She thought she might still be able to hear his voice in the distance and feel his chakra explode. But it wasn't until sometime after that she'd really understood what happened that day.

But the man standing in front of her now wasn't him or even the same man that haunted her dreams for weeks all those years ago. He was soft and warm and when he held her all the rest of the world faded away and all that was left was him and her and a bed. He was strong and she was sure part of him would always wish for more power. But she knew that he'd never betray his own village or an ally to seek that selfish power. It seemed to take forever for him to answer, and she was beginning to think he might never speak again.

"The part of me that was a murderer did not." He was finally satisfied with the thought as he let it dribble from his mind and bathe her in the overbearing waves of deep rooted regret that her small form incited in him. She watched him, and he took another step closer because he didn't know any other way to respond to the look she wore at that moment.

"And the other part?" her question was soft as it passed over his face like a warm summer breeze. She watched him with shinning eyes that betrayed everything she felt. There was a hopeful, morose sensation that filtered through them now as she stood at the edge of his most cherished sin. Yet she was just hopeful, and that gave him the strength to speak.

"Regrets it deeply." He was honest, and cold and sad and alone. He shivered and wondered if her arms would give him any warmth. He imagined he'd be full, and warm, and happy. He imagined being happy, and what it would feel like to laugh like she did so freely. He imagined that it would be as glorious as her lips would be. He took another step forward, only two more and he would be standing at the edge of the bed – so close and yet still so far from her and all the sweet reprieves her presence offered.

"And who is standing in front of me now?" she pulled him from his long glance at the shrinking distance that separated them. She sat up on her knees and scooted forward, towards the edge of the bed. She wondered what he would taste like; part of her imagined he'd be cold and metallic. But there was another part of her that just knew he'd be warm and sweet. She wondered if he'd taste like honey, she liked honey. He looked at her with those unreadable green eyes and let them flicker over her lips. She scooted a little closer.

"The empty shell of the murderer." He took another step because the look on her face as she knelt in her bed and drew ever closer towards him made it impossible to remain still. Her lips looked so soft, he imagined being able to run his thumb over her lower lip so he could feel her breath on his finger. She watched him watch her and he tried to keep his feet rooted to the floor, so close – too close now. He felt like he was burning.

"Why are you empty?" she whispered it, because she knew that anything louder would break the spell she was under. She let the sheets drop and she knelt just at the edge of the bed and look up at him with everything her soul felt for the magnificent kage at the foot of her bed. And she wanted to lean up and in and taste his honey lips. She licked her own lips just imagining what it would be like. She thought they looked soft, unused.

"Because I can not be whole without…" his voice hitched in his throat as her tongue snaked out of her perfect pink lips and ran across them. And then he couldn't breathe and all the massive vacant air that stood the foot between them was like a chasm. He wasn't close enough, and he felt like he'd suffocate on all the air that was between them. He needed to be closer, he needed to touch her face and taste her lips that shimmered with her own saliva. He closed the last step and he thought it felt like jumping across a canyon and he was floating on the breeze that carried him to her.

"Without …what?" She sat straight up on her knees and drowned in his eyes. And he was leaning down so she leaned in and there was so much space still between them as the cursed inches dripped away as their faces dipped closer. She was so close she could almost taste him in the air but it still wasn't close enough. Her eyes closed in the anticipation of the inevitable and she trembled because he was still too far.

Gaara inched down, so close, so far. A restless desire building in him as he watched in fixated awe as her perfect eyes slipped shut and he could almost taste her. He wanted to taste her, he was dying inside each second that his lips remained untouched and unfulfilled. He closed the distance and with some greater force his eyes were forces shut in the wake of the indescribable power of her lips sliding under his.

She was soft and warm and the kiss was light and barely there. But the growing need was bubbling over and made him lean harder because he still wasn't close enough. So he reached out a shaking hand and trembled as it instinctively found its way to mix with her impossibly pink hair and pull her even closer. She was so soft and warm and he wanted to cry because she was real and sweet. She tasted like fresh rain falling on his swollen tongue. It was so new, and innocent, and painfully perfect. She was everything he'd imagined and so much more.

Sakura let her hands glide up his arms that held her and tangle her fingers in his rough locks. She tasted him, and was delighted to find that he was sweet. He still tasted like the plum sauce from her dumplings and she wondered if he'd always be this sweet. His mouth was so soft and his tongue on hers made her want to weep all over again. He wasn't gritty like that cynical side of her imagined, but it was like liquid, hot velvet that slid under her tongue as she desperately pressed her chest against his.

She was still too far, too alone, too singular. She wanted to be a part of him, she wanted to get so close to him she'd never be able to pull herself back out again and she'd forever be part of someone else. His perfect lips, and perfect hands, and perfect hair were everywhere and she knew she'd never be the same again. Sakura wanted. She desperately pulled at the leather strap of his gourd in an effort to feel the full length of his body against hers.

She was so close now, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his and he wanted more. He wanted to feel her skin against his and lay on top of her so that every inch of him would be heated by her naked body. Gaara freaked out. It was too much, her skin, her little noises that only got as far as his mouth, her tongue, her chest against his and suddenly her hands pulling him forward from the strap of his gourd. If there had been a demon in him then, he would have ripped her to shreds.

Then he was gone, stumbling back through the thick, heated air of her stifling bedroom. She thought he almost looked scared, that was if the Kage knew that fear was. But all she could think about was the impassible distance he'd put between them and she hated him for taking away her warmth. She held out a hand that had been trying to pull him down on top of her like a kind of silent plea. "Wha…?" her lips were swollen and her faces was flushed as she met his fearful filled eyes with trepidation.

"Without you." He whispered it as he fell even further away from her and her bed that was too large and her pain that was too raw and her eyes that were too expressive and her hair that was too bright and her mouth which was too perfect and her life which was too much not his. "I can't be whole without _you_." Then he was gone in a cloud of swirling sand, and his voice hanging in the air echoed in her ears until she was sure she'd imagined it.

She could still taste him on her lips as she let the hated tears well in her eyes and burn streaked tracks down her pale cheeks. She was sure then that he'd never return and she'd waste away alone, an insomniac by necessity, and die without ever being fulfilled. She'd never felt this kind of passion and she was sure she'd never find it again. She already knew she'd never sleep again if his arms weren't around her. So she balled her tight body into an adult fetal position in the large bed and cried from sunrise to sunset because there was no power great enough to move her from her living mourning for the kage she would always regret tasting and yet know she could never have enough of.

So in his absence she grew restless because she couldn't sleep alone and missed the sand in between her sheets. She counted the moments she'd long for him and chastised herself because she had no right to miss what wasn't hers. But for all the protests her mind gave, she knew that she was lost without him and found within him. Nothing had ever felt as right as his lips on hers as his fingers roamed through her hair. Her first kiss, she cried harder. Another sun rose and set and she was still motionless in the world that she'd let him rule and hated her heart because it just couldn't let go.

Finally on the sunrise of the third day, she'd entered a catatonic state of constant tears and silent hate that festered for each second she couldn't erase the feeling of him from her mind. How had he managed to grip at her heart and tear at her soul in such a short time? She pondered the depths of his control over her as she willed her aching legs to stand and carry her through dusty streets, dressed in the black this cloudy day deserved.

She was a living corpse, a dying deity in a land of false hopes and lost dreams. She was ruler over all the pain she had and all she could think about was his eyes as he backed away from her in the morning light. She hated him then, and then hated herself for letting such a vicious thought enter her mind. Sakura hated, cold heart, reserved soul, and all the events of years that slipped away and chances left unfulfilled made her hate. Her heart was dead and she was still alive, so she hated her heart and followed the trickle of bodies to the all too familiar clearing that held the memorial stone.

The clouds in the sky as the small group of people gathered around the slate black memorial stone were ominous. And her vibrant pink hair almost looked inappropriate in the sea of somber black and white. She hated her hair then for demeaning Naruto's memorial. Then she allowed herself a sad, sobbing laugh as she realized how much his hair would have stood out. She cried, still alone in her mourning and Gaara-less-ness. She gave one last look around before she made her way into the clearing, Kakashi and Tsunade right behind her.

She couldn't remember a time when Kakashi had looked so close to tears than he did then. She hated knowing that she was responsible for taking away yet another person he cared for. She hated herself more and more and with nothing to stop it, she walked in silent hate towards the stone that held the immortal name of the man she killed. She wished she'd loved him then, really loved him like she knew he felt about her. She hated herself for wasting so many years on Sasuke. Then she decided to hate him instead, it was all his fault anyway. If he hadn't been so power hungry, if he would have just loved her… she cried harder. She was no better than him.

So she bowed her head in an unspoken adoration for the memory of a man that would have sacrificed everything for her, and did. Maybe she did love him, but not enough – but then again she'd never known a love that was ever good enough. She'd never really been _in_ love. She squeezed her fists closed and let her perfect nails dig perfect little semi-circles into her perfectly helpless hands while she wept for all her ineptitude. She wished for red, pale green, black-rimmed eyes and grainy sand. The she hated herself for wishing it more.

The heavens opened and the rain fell and she mourned alone in a crowd of their closest friends because it was her fault. She saw the faces of all the people around her and watched in horror as they gave her long, sideways pitiful glances under curved lashes of grave misunderstand. She hated them and their pity, but she loved the rain for masking her tears and washing her face.

There was a speech she didn't hear and weeping faces she didn't meet. Minutes stretched out into hours as the crowd slowly disappeared, each offering condolences as if he was hers. So she stood defiantly in the rain and made herself at least acknowledge that she never even wanted him. If she were a better person, she would have, but she knew she wasn't and tried to live with it as the rain soaked her and chilled her heart just a little bit more.

Her tears dried up as the rain passed and was replaced by the cool breeze that rustled her hair around her face and she was glad she'd foregone the forehead protector. She liked the feel of her hair tickling her face and hiding her swollen eyes. Eventually she stood alone in the coming night, afraid to move because it would mean it was over and she was alone again but too sad to stay because his cheerful name looked so wrong on the somber black stone. There was a prick at the base of her neck and she nearly sighed with relief. She didn't have to turn to know who stood behind her in the cascading shadows of twilight. "You made it."

Her soft, trembling voice betrayed the stiff posture she used. Her strength was a façade, one that he saw through with ease. Even with her back to him he could almost taste the tears that dried on her face and stained her shirt. The smell of fresh rain practically drove away the metallic taste of her tears on the wind that pick up her hair and danced with lacking headbands. He wished she'd pull her hair back.

"I told you I would." His voice filled the empty air as he stepped forward and took his place by her side. Without a second's hesitation he slipped his hand in hers and entwined their fingers. She didn't object, somehow he knew she wouldn't. He was glad he'd missed the crowd but the swelling complacency that this hidden village spurned in him was aggravating.

"Ah." A sad noise escaped her lips and made her seem stronger than he knew she was. "Thank you for coming, Kazekage-sama." She smiled. It was a sad, distant smile that didn't reach her eyes. His hand tightened just in the slightest at the sight of what he deemed to be the most devastating expression he'd ever seen. The lingering memory of it gripped at his heart long after it had faded from her pale face.

"It's just Gaara now." He turned just enough to let her see his pale eyes shine with defiance. But she was so lost in her own, tried room of grief that she'd managed to miss his once-in-a-life-time moment. Part of him was upset at her for that, he blamed the phantom pains of a demon voice. But the new _Gaara_ side of him saw the beginnings of her own black rimmed eyes and knew that she hadn't slept either.

"Nani?" he looked so intense in the fading light, with the harsh shadows cast across his pale face, he reminded her of a painting. He seemed to be trying to convey some important message to her and she was missing it. So she closed her eyes and replayed what he had said. 'It's just Gaara now.' It still resonated with the air of some great revelation, yet she was unable to comprehend.

He sighed, noting that she would never get to the correct conclusion on her own. Then he closed his eyes, smirked and responded. "I am no longer the Kazekage of Suna." He wasn't exactly sure what made him smirk, he thought it might have been the image of her confused face that flashed in his mind, or maybe it was the idea of how she would respond. Or just maybe it was nothing, a passing twitching nerve that made him sneer at the night and hold her hand a little tighter.

"Doshde?" suddenly, she was quite awake. She looked at him, still smirking and was lost in a sea of very serious implications. She could still feel his lips moving under hers as they drew ever closer in the rising sun of days past. She tried to imagine him looking angry, at least then she could openly hate herself for taking up his time and getting him removed from office. But that little smirk just wouldn't let her. So she watches him and waited because she knows there's more he hasn't said.

"I am no longer strong enough to protect my people." He let his head hang, weary from the journey and his newfound lack of power. This was his truth now, his demon-less body craved to be full of strength again, but it was just full of unfamiliar chakra and the unquenchable need to see pink, green, red and pale skin again. Her eyes begged for more and he was compelled to comply. "I can only protect one person now."

She might have cried. He might have pulled her closer. They might have stood for years in the coming night as the stars alighted their path across the infinite sky. They might have loved each other, or loved the promise of love. They might have fit perfectly together, like a puzzle even a two year old can see will fit in just the right way to complete the picture. They might have noticed too, but they said nothing. They let the silence fill the space around them as the stood hand in hand and watched the memorial stone disappear into the rising darkness until all that was left was him and her.

Finally, he spoke with a hushed, raspy voice. The silence was too calm for his turbulent soul or the fears swirling around on his chest as he held her perfect hand. It was a fear that had been growing in him for three days, and even as he resigned as Kage and watched the faces of his sister and brother fall in an unknown emotion that resembled something like shock, it wouldn't leave him. It was there as he fled from her room and her lips. It was there as he arrived home, frustrated because it no longer felt like home. It was there as he flew back on his magic carpet of sand in the heat of the summer sun. It was there as he held her hand and watched her mourn. "I'm not him."

She turned her head to look at him from the corners of her eyes. In the moonlight, she thought his skin almost shone and made the deep black rims of his eyes more exaggerated. He was tired, so was she. She turned back to the darkness that stretched out like an endless sea in front of them. Sakura spoke. "I never asked you to be."

It seemed out of place to him that her soft voice could be so strong when in contrast his seemed so weak and frail. Perhaps she was stronger than he realized, perhaps she was so broken inside the shattered pieces of her heart almost resembled the real thing. Maybe she was so broken she was whole. Maybe he was insane, and not in the previous maniacal way. Gaara spoke. "Were you in love with him?" his distant fears were suddenly thrust threw his lips as he imagined her pulling him close and whispering another man's name.

She didn't smile this time. She seemed sad to answer, like she didn't want to. He suddenly didn't want her to either. He would have stopped her, but she held his hand and her heart and she didn't even know how his breath hitched as he waited for her answer. "No, but I did love him."

He didn't understand the difference, but her hand in his made him think that someday he would and just like that, he was glad she'd answered. The mounting fear slowed in his chest and he held her hand tighter. "It wasn't your fault." He had an odd sense of déjà vu as she sighed and shook her head.

"I don't think I'll ever believe that." Sakura was quite sure they'd had this conversation before. But this time, it didn't feel the same. His hand in hers and the darkness that surround them made her draw ever closer to the shinning man at her side.

"You don't have to, just know that I do." She looked at him then, really looked deep into his pale green eyes that shimmered in the moonlight and imagined him with a leaf forehead-protector wrapped around the strap of his gourd. She let her eyes linger over him longer than she should have but never long enough to allow her to memorize every inch of him. She wanted to reach out her hands, to touch him. She thought then she might be able to know every curve of his face from the confines of her blank mind.

"Hai." Her sweet voice finally admitted in trepid reservation. And she was quite certain then that she loved him or was in love with him. The swirling of the chakras inside him made her waiver just at the edge of the two wholly other distinctions. "How long will you stay?" So a love she didn't understand grew from a pain she would never forget. And they stood as she watched him from the corners of her eyes and loved him with the corners of her heart. Sakura loved.

He looked at her, this perfect woman who encased herself with a perfectly unreachable pain and wished he could touch her soul just to see what it would feel like as it passed through his fingers. He imagined it felt like her hair. He made a note to himself: he loved her. He was certain of that. And the blank, newly filled hole in his chest that used to be occupied by a psychopathic demon was now shaded with all things Sakura and ached to be completed by her. He found no objection to his newest addition to the list and died a little because of it. But it was that part of him that yearned for the reprieve of mindless murderer that died and an equal piece of the new _Gaara_ was born in its place, while he held her hand. Gaara loved.

Under the blanket of the dark, they remained clasped together in silent mourning as the night passed away and was replaced by the cresting sun at their backs. As the first rays reflected off the black slate, he carried away on his enchanted sand and cradled her in his all too eager arms. He took his rightful place by her side that morning and held her close because she was his and he was hers.

She was finally able to memorize every inch of his body with her aching hands and eager eyes. She trembled and pulled him back and down so that the bed against her back and his lips hovering just above hers made her whimper for him. She held him close with strong arms and useless fears that disappeared when he looked at her and silently asked for permission. She might have cried then, because she loved the way his lips felt on hers and his comforting weight pinning her against the soft mattress. She smiled under the weight of his body because she knew that she'd never be as whole as she was then. He finished her in everyway she was fragmented. Sakura was complete.

So he desperately leaned in and down and tasted her lips again and again. He was amazed by the feeling of her skin under his palms, and he desperately wanted more. He gave a silent thanks to god as he watched her in the new light of the day that filtered in through dirty windows and he couldn't imagine her being any more perfect. He worshiped her body, and would forever replay the sensation of what it was like to be one with such a perfect creature. He wept in her arms that morning as he learned what it was like to truly love because he knew no other way to feel for the flower petal he'd snatched from the wind. Gaara was complete.

They were broken and mended in each others arms that night. So they lived, hand in hand as the seldom articulated promise of companionship and shared grief waned until it was obscured by the cresting sun on her silken face until it became the simple desire to sleep and dream and wake and live… together.

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**Updated:**

There is also a sequel to this now called **Love 'Bakemono no hanabira'** You can find it on my profile, I kept it 'T' so I got to post it here!

But on my profile, I also have links to some of my mature fics over at media miner. Please, let me know what you think - you can send me a PM to review those, if you're so inclinded. I think they are pretty good - but hey, I wrote them so what would I know?


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